


Untitled OT3 Project

by olga_eulalia



Category: Black Sails
Genre: F/M, Kissing, M/M, Talking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2019-01-15 15:54:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12324162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olga_eulalia/pseuds/olga_eulalia
Summary: Unbeta'd. Non-native speaker writing here.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd. Non-native speaker writing here.

On an island where access to goods was limited, a decent bottle of rum was hard to come by, but as it happened, two crew members had availed themselves of the secret stash of one of their mates, and in order to put an end to the ensuing altercation, Silver had taken swift action and confiscated the disputed item. He was fairly certain he could put it to better use.

As, just that afternoon, he'd managed to counter one of his teacher’s elaborate attacks with success for the first time since his lessons had begun almost two months ago. Granted, the execution may have been a bit sloppy, but it was as good a reason for celebration as any.

 

Wrapping both arms around her middle while she put hers around his neck, he pulled Madi flush against him and, ignoring the twinge of pain in his leg, lifted her off the ground just to hear her languorous _ungh_ at the feel of his strength. His lips slid over the sweet curve of her chin and over the plush shape of her mouth hungrily, starting a kiss that continued long after her initial indulgence had transformed into something much more demanding.

Then he told her.

“So you’re making progress,” she said.

They'd had variations of this conversation before. She didn't like the fact that he was becoming enamoured with the idea of entering the thick of battle himself. She, too, knew that fate was cruel, that skill and cleverness did not protect against stray bullets.

So by the time he made his way across the settlement, his giddiness had somewhat diminished and he actually caught himself wondering how likely it was that Flint would receive his gift with an equal lack of enthusiasm.

 

At this hour, the voices of the forest had grown loud. A breeze was ruffling through the palm fronds that stood in black tufts against the sunset's afterglow, brushing through his undone hair and snaking over the exposed skin at his throat and arms, less hot now that evening turned into night.

Flint's small thatched hut, much frequented and often crammed full of people during daytime, finally stood in solitude, lit in the dim flickering light of nearby torches.

"Can I come in?" Silver asked, poised to open the entrance door.

A groan was audible through the delicate timber structure. It was followed by a grumble that sounded a lot like, "When are you gonna give me a moment's peace?" Stripped of coat and boots, Flint had laid himself down to rest and was barely willing to do more than lift an eyelid when Silver entered. “All right. Who threw the first punch this time?”

“Please,” Silver said, pushing the door closed. “You know I’d never bother you with something as trivial as that.”

Among the jumbled items and stacks of paper on the table that stood between them, Silver found two cups which he arranged on either side, positioning the bottle of rum smack in the middle. A flame in the vicinity gave off sooty smoke, sputtering on its wick.

Flint’s smirk came on slowly. Demonstrating true resilience by placing his naked feet back on the dirt floor and abandoning his bed, he took a seat at the table across from Silver.

They had sat together like this on several occasions, assembling military troops into various constellations on a grander scale than ever before. Flint assessing people based on their merit in battle, Silver providing the information on who could actually work together as a unit. To be taken into confidence by a man as formidable as Flint was nothing if not intoxicating. Whereas other people received precise orders and curt statements from Flint, Silver was there to observe their germination.

Even now, when in less than two weeks they were going to make their move against Rogers and invade Nassau in a painstakingly rehearsed attack to reclaim their home, the experience had lost none of its potency.

"I'd sleep more soundly if we had five ships," Flint said, clearing some space by gathering paper into a pile.

"I thought you said you could do it with three."

"I could,” Flint stated. “Under ideal circumstances. But one has to take into account all eventualities." He glanced at Silver, making sure the allusion did not go unnoticed.

"So how do you propose we get that fifth ship? Steal it? Coerce its captain and bribe the crew while we're at it?"

"I was thinking we ought to take a more practical approach this time,” Flint mused, slowly leaning in and reaching for the bottle, “and advertise for it in the newspaper.”

Caught off guard, Silver all but choked on a laugh. Flint’s delighted chuckle was short like a hiccup. There was no telling whether it would ever stop feeling strange to joke around with the most feared pirate captain in the New World.

Uncorking the bottle, Flint began to explain, “Good old Captain Hewe once did, almost six years ago now, but it turned out not quite how everyone thought it would...”

 

As it so often did, their conversation went off on a tangent about Nassau's past and its colourful denizens. Silver listened to Flint's stories besottedly, flushed by drink. One or two of them sounded familiar already, but, as always, it was the telling that he found himself swept up in. Following words and gestures like the melodious course of a river was a pleasure not to be missed. But he’d be deceiving himself if he didn’t admit that he’d trade the life stories of fifty pirates for just one more about Flint’s past.

Once again, he found himself puzzling over Flint’s relationship with Thomas, how they’d been with each other, who had encouraged who in the months leading up to Flint's exile. There were so many questions he wanted to ask about the Hamiltons, but after the second time he'd done so, he knew better than to mention the name. Though he wanted to hoard every last piece of information about them, he understood that he had no right to ask for so much when he himself was unwilling to part with even a little of what was deemed so important by Flint.

 

Before long, the talk came back to the topic that no one on the island could escape from for even an hour, and Flint said, looking down into his cup momentarily, "We can't afford to have this go wrong."

It seemed utterly ludicrous to Silver that defeat should feature in Flint’s considerations at all. Which was probably the biggest pointer to the fact that he’d spent so much time bolstering his captain’s confidence that he himself appeared to have lost the ability to doubt him altogether. 

But Silver couldn’t quite bring himself to be bothered about it tonight. To feel as comfortable as he did right then was a rarity these days and he'd be a fool to let anything disturb that high. He had sunk down in his chair, had his chin propped up on the pad of his thumb, one finger tucked between his lips. It was that last detail that trapped Flint’s gaze when his thoughts went straying.

And it was that half-forlorn, half-hungry look on Flint’s face reminiscent of a mangy creature that drew Silver out of the comfort of his chair.

Supporting his steps by leaning his weight against the table, he moved along its edge to stand in front of Flint, who looked up at him, blinking slowly. With the intention of speaking his words in the most emphatic manner possible, Silver put his hand on the back of Flint’s chair and leaned down. But then instead, because it seemed the more encouraging thing to do, leaned down a little further and placed a kiss on Flint's brow.

And then another on the shy curve of his cheek. And, invited by a subtle lift of Flint’s chin, on his lips as well. They were soft and generous in the thicket of that ginger beard, hot and humid. Silver, welcomed by a sigh like a breath, settled in to take a long taste of them. Surprised by the surge of want that ripped through him with a force that seemed at odds with the tender nature of his affection and filled his body to the brim with exhilaration until he felt himself on the precipice of something beautiful, yet terrifying.

Both of them were breathing hard by the time they paused. Flint took that opportunity to turn his head away and then make a retreat to his bed where he sat down heavily, putting his head against the wall and sprawling his limbs as though the strength had gone out of them.

He looked terribly young in that moment, his skin gilded by the light, flushed in warm hues. “If, for whatever reason, it does go pear-shaped,” he said, “I don’t want you in the fray.”

Grabbing both their cups, Silver followed him to his bed and sat down next to him. “Is that why you’ve been teaching me how to fight for all these weeks?” he asked. “Jesus Christ. Am I truly that bad at it?”

Flint didn’t take the bait. “Please don’t deliberately misunderstand me on this issue. We need someone to continue the fight.”

“Who’s we?” Silver asked, upset that he hadn’t been able to divert Flint’s thoughts from going down that path. He certainly wasn’t going to fall in line behind Teach, whose sole motivation for being part of their invasion force was revenge, and who was not remotely interested in any of their nobler goals. A war needed a leader in possession of not just competence and daring, but also a greater vision. Something that Billy, too, regrettably lacked. “As much as that may sound like just another bout of sentimentality, there will be no fight without you,” he said, shoving Flint’s cup at him so that its contents slopped over, adding, "You're a lousy drunk.”

"Says the man who just got all sentimental.”

Silver didn’t reply, silenced by his inability to deny the accusation, filled with a maddening sense of disquiet.

They probably could’ve lived as though the kiss had never happened, lived with it as with the memory of a dream. But now, after having that glimpse of how they could be, Silver was less than convinced that they should.


	2. Chapter 2

Standing in grainy ocean water, looking at the horizon, he found himself in possession of both his feet. That was how he knew he was dreaming. That was how he knew he needn’t be afraid of the wave that was building itself to an immense height out there on the shoal, moving towards the beach with unhesitating swiftness where it eclipsed the sun’s light. As its foaming crest was towering above him, he felt confident that he needn’t draw breath either, but even in his dreams his body followed its own logic and made him take a big gulp of air just as the whole weight of the wave fell down upon him like a mountain and submerged him in cold, dark depth.

 

He gasped, awakened by Madi’s touch on his shoulder.

“Sorry. Bad dream,” he said, squinting into the light of the lantern dangling from the ceiling. Failing to grasp her withdrawing hand, he tried to communicate a grateful smile.

“What are you doing, John?” she whispered. She was crouching by the bed, a frown tucked between her eyebrows.

Befuddled as he was, it took him a moment to remember that he’d promised her to be back by midnight and that, judging by the candles’ heights, it was considerably later than that. It took him even longer to realize that he was still in Flint’s hut, in Flint’s bed, with Flint’s body pressed against him, faint gusts of breath coming down over the slope of his neck.

“I fell asleep,” he said by way of apology, tugging his shirt collar back into place and fishing about for his prosthetic leg on the floor, experiencing a spike of panic when it took him several attempts to find it.

All that shifting about stirred Flint awake as well. “Madi?” He said her name very softly. Initially confused by her presence in his hut, it didn’t take long for him to make the connection, and he forced himself to sit upright with a small noise of discomfort.

“What happened here?” she demanded to know, rising to her full height once Silver was sitting, squeezing his left leg into its leather contraption, and Flint had slid out of bed.

At the question, Silver lifted his head. His gaze locked with hers. The feeling of agitation returned, gripped him and rendered him speechless all in the space of a second. Yet he somehow knew that he would never see himself rid of it if he did not beat Flint to an answer now. “I kissed him,” he said, surprising all of them.

“You kissed him,” Madi repeated. She drew in a large breath so that her collarbones stood in stark relief. Then she threw a doubtful look at both of them as she tried to sort through her thoughts. “Show me how,” she said.

“I don’t think that’s a–”

“Not you,” she silenced Silver, holding up a hand. “You,” she said, meaning Flint.

Looking at the situation through her eyes, Silver wouldn’t trust himself to be truthful either. “You can’t expect him to do that.”

“Please,” she addressed Flint, cutting Silver out of the discussion entirely. “I need to know.”

It was difficult to say whether it was the tone of command in her voice and the sense of duty it inspired or whether it was something else that compelled Flint to indulge her demand. Straightening his posture, he stepped closer to her. Stalling, brushing his beard into shape with a stroke of his hand, he gave her time to reconsider. Because it was obvious by the way she was fidgeting with the bangle on her left wrist that she wasn’t entirely convinced of her own request, confronted with Flint’s closeness like this. However, she wasn’t one to back down either.

Perhaps Silver should have said something then, but looking at the two of them standing together with barely an inch of light between them, Flint in his black shirt and breeches, Madi in her pale blouse and skirt, he was dazed by the brunt of their beauty, the shapeliness of their figures, the refinement of their features. He was hesitant to breathe, fearing it might disperse the image like an illusion.

Then, with deliberation, Flint began to reenact Silver’s kisses one by one. But while the first made Madi bite back a smile, the second turned her expression contemplative again. Despite her clear order, Flint searched for permission in her eyes to continue, to eventually bend his head and kiss her on the lips, moving his jaw slowly as she opened her mouth ever so slightly to deepen the kiss.

Silver gripped the bedspread with both hands. None of the intensity he’d felt had been imagined. Not one of his caresses had gone unremembered by Flint.

When it ended, Madi was blinking rapidly. “I need air,” she said.

With his lips in a tight line, Flint watched her leave, then shook his head. “All that time we spent together–” He picked an empty cup off the floor and set it down on the table with much force. “You couldn’t even tell me this?”

“You never asked.” Silver finished fastening the strap around his calf, pinching his skin in the haste of the moment, and rose from the bed. He stood, aching for something to hold on to, waiting for Flint's reply.

“Probably because I didn’t want to hear the answer. Probably because I didn’t want to hear. That you love her," Flint said, looking at him then.

“I do,” Silver confirmed, because it was the truth and because telling the truth bluntly seemed to engender a strange kind of giddiness within him. Propelled by the rush, testing its limits, he quickly went on to say, “But I–,” in the same breath, only to find his courage not long-lasting at all. Finishing the sentence slipped out of the realm of the possible. He couldn’t hand over his feelings to Flint just like that.

Flint watched him try to shape the words that wouldn’t come, then looked him in the eye, understanding and leniency softening his expression. “You should go after her,” he said.

Silver acknowledged his defeat in this, brought about by his own cowardice, and followed Madi out of the door where he found her standing only a few steps away.

“I heard what you said,” she let him know, her open gaze sinking into him with a heavy weight.

 

Around the corner of the hut and down a gentle slope, he followed her to the little inland lake at whose edge the Maroons had built their new existence. Its surface stirred in the night breeze, appearing alive with the reflection of orange flame and white moonlight. A couple of toy boats lay beached there in the mud.

“There are things that I want,” Madi began, all of her emotion seemingly contained in the straight line of her back as she looked out across the water. “Things that would seem irreconcilable with the position I occupy. And there are other things that I want, things that seem to exclude one another by their very nature. But I’ve come to realize that they don’t. That, once the necessary struggle is overcome, it’s apparent that one thing always contains the other and that they are never separable to begin with.”

Gathering her skirts, she bent down to set one of the miniature rafts afloat.

Together, in the gentle caress of night, they watched its white sail bob up and down on rippling waves that soon ushered it back towards the shore where he retrieved it for her. Her hand lingering on his, she faced him.

“Why are you deliberately keeping the two halves of your life separate, John? Discovering you so torn makes me doubt I ever knew you truly. You must realize that being so divided within yourself you can never hope to love with your whole heart.”

“I just can’t see how to make it work.”

“All it takes is a decision.”

He wasn’t entirely sure he understood her in this. “I don’t think this is my decision to make.”

“I’m telling you. It is,” she said and, after a moment’s hesitation, reached out to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye that had squeezed out unbidden when her words had unknotted some nameless tension within him. “I’ve made mine already.”

 

“Is she not taking you back?” Flint asked, failing to affect a neutral tone, when Silver cautiously stepped back into his abode a little while later. He appeared to be occupied with taking notes, but too many words had been crossed out on the slip of paper lying in front of him for it to be of any use.

“No, she is.” Silver gripped the back of the chair with one hand, unsure whether he should take a seat.

Flint studied him. “Then what are you doing here?” He wiped the quill dry with a stained rag before setting it aside. There was no malice in his words.

A multitude of unanswered questions had driven Silver to return, but he saw perfectly well that he couldn’t keep demanding answers without offering some of his own. “I came to apologize,” he said, “for not telling you about Madi and me.”

Flint ran his fingertips across his brow, leaving small traces of ink there. By his intake of breath Silver could tell that he was bottling a lengthy sigh.

Flint had been patient with him, but he didn’t know that Silver had spent so much time living from hand to mouth, protecting what little he had in whichever way he could that, at some point, he’d falsely come to believe that any sharing that did not yield explicit gain was equal to a loss. And that he’d only recently come to understand that other people had no such difficult relationship with the concept. That both Madi and Flint might not see his affection for them diminished in any way if they knew that they both had it.

So he continued.

“For not inviting you in,” he said, “when you are clearly as much a part of my life as she is.”

Flint, less stunned and much more scrutinizing in response than expected, leaned back in his chair. “She imposed some conditions?” he asked.


End file.
